Domesticate You
by Capsule Cray
Summary: Cell was defeated, and Mirai Trunks has returned to his timeline. Vegeta wants to stay on Earth and raise his son as a proper Saiyan warrior, but can he balance fatherhood, the stupidity of earthlings, and his growing attachment to Bulma without blowing up the world? This is my second multiple chapter submission-those who know me know I update on the regular! B/V
1. Chapter 1

After receiving so much positive feedback for my other multiple chapter submission, I thought I'd start another one! While I wonder (as we all do, I'm sure) about what might have happened during those ~mysterious~ three years, I think an even more intriguing mystery is what happened for our favorite couple and dysfunctional family between the Cell and Buu sagas? Personally, I think these are the years our Saiyan Prince and beautiful super genius fell in love. I hope you enjoy! I will try to update as often as possible. If you find yourself waiting for an update, however, always feel free to check out my other B/V stories (they are plentiful). Thanks so much for reading! Don't forget to R&R!

Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Ball, Dragon Ball Z, or any of these great characters.

I.

Homecoming

Vegeta stared at his son. His son, the infant, played with its toes. How strange it was to imagine this child, still mystified by the workings of his own digits, would grow to be the boy Vegeta had trained with for a grueling year in the hyperbolic time chamber—the _man_ Vegeta had trained with for a grueling year in the hyperbolic time chamber. No, that wasn't right; this child would never become that person. The Saiyan's jaw tightened; it was too confusing to continue his perseverative thoughts, bouncing back and forth to try and make sense of every timeline and every uncomfortable feeling. He knew, for certain, only one thing: he _never_ wanted this babe to endure what his future counterpart had. No pain, no suffering, no _death,_ and, beyond all else, no disappointment in his father. His ears pricked at the sound of soft footsteps.

"Vegeta?" The footsteps approached, and she was there beside him. She looked into the crib, just as he did, admiring the creature they had made together. "Trunks is going back to his time, soon. Other Trunks, I mean. We're all outside waiting to send him off." She shifted uncomfortably, folding her arms across one another. "I think you should come say goodbye."

The Saiyan made no indication that he heard the woman, gazing still at their small son. He waited for her to pester him, as she usually did when he ignored her, but she did not. Finally, he turned to look at her, and saw that she was crying. He felt himself tense, distantly noting how frustratingly attached to the human's well-being he still found himself. She looked back at him, their eyes locking. They stood in silence for a moment longer, until finally a sob escaped her lips. She threw her arms around him. "I'm really glad you're alive," she whispered.

Before Vegeta could push her off, however, she removed herself from his neck, straightening her clothes and flicking her tears away. "Now, let's get out there. He hasn't got all day." She reached into the crib and gathered up their baby, then turned for the door. She paused, shifting Trunks to her hip. "You coming?"

Stiffly, face ever serious, Vegeta nodded and followed. As they walked together, he allowed himself to indulge in the memory of her fleeting embrace. It felt comfortable and familiar, yet so electric—it had been many months since they shared any intimacy, and he was not sure if they ever would again. Perhaps, her emotional display suggested she would be amenable to continuing the arrangement they had before he left. He was ashamed to admit to himself how much he wanted that. Either way, he intended to stay on Earth, at least for a while. He needed to train his son the way an heir of the Saiyan Prince deserved to be trained. He needed to do _something_ worthy of the idol his son, past or present, believed him to be.


	2. Chapter 2

The first chapter was really just a little intro, so I thought I'd go ahead and get number 2 up. Thanks for reading! R&R if you please!

Disclaimer: Don't own these coo-coo kids!

II.

Ground Rules

Bulma glared at the pile of dirty laundry, carelessly heaped in the corner of her master bathroom. Gritting her teeth, she gathered the unsavory scented mass into her arms, carried it to the laundry room, and stuffed it into the washing machine with extreme prejudice. Her patience finally tested beyond its limits, she stormed outside and pounded on the door of the gravity room. "Hey, open up! We need to talk!"

The beautiful scientist had been avoiding this conversation for the better part of a week; despite how angry his disgusting living habits made her, she feared Vegeta's permanent departure from Earth, and knew she risked hastening the process by confronting him about it. However, she could not live with the uncertainty any longer. She needed to know _exactly_ what his intentions were, especially if said intentions would be occurring under her roof.

The gravity room door shot open, and Bulma stood before a very sweaty and irritated Saiyan. "What do you want!?" he growled, hands balled into fists.

"What do I _want?_ " The scientist threw her hands to her hips and narrowed her eyes. Sometimes she could not _believe_ the Saiyan's nerve. "All I _want_ , Vegeta, is to know what your deal is."

His eye twitched, noticeably. "My _deal?_ What on Earth are you going on about, woman?" he demanded through gritted teeth.

"I _mean_ , what are you doing!?" When she realized her house guest was still unclear as to her intentions for the direction of the conversation, she sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, allowing herself to calm down and re-present her inquiry. "Look," she began, "the deal was, you could stay here and train until you fought the androids. Obviously our situation is… a little less black and white than that." She cleared her throat, suddenly uncomfortable. "Anyway, what I'm trying to say is, you can stay here as long as you want. I just need to know…if that _is_ what you want." She finished and waited, staring expectantly at the alien.

Vegeta frowned. "Yes, fine," he stated flatly, crossing his arms.

Bulma blinked. "Wait, really?"

Rolling his eyes, the Saiyan gave an exasperated exhale. "Are your ears not working correctly? I said yes, I will stay. Is that a problem?" he snapped, the last phrase more threatening than inquisition.

"Erm, no, I just…I'm glad. For Trunks, I mean. I think it would be good for him to have you around," Bulma replied, un-phased by his ominous tone. The days of her fearing him were long behind them, and they both knew that.

"Are we finished here?" Vegeta stared expectantly at the heiress, jaw working.

Remembering the reason she had lost her temper in the first place, Bulma held up a finger and poked the Saiyan in the chest. "Oh, yeah! And _stop_ using _my_ bathroom!" She commanded.

This time it was the Saiyan who blinked, surprised by the rule. He swatted her finger away. "Why? That is the one you told me to use," he reminded her, annoyed.

Bulma's cheeks reddened as she recalled the exchange. "That was—before," she stammered. On-again-off-again relationships were challenging enough; she had plenty of experience with that when she and Yamcha were an item. However, with a hybrid baby and an alien _completely_ unfamiliar with human dating norms thrown into the mix, her life was about to get a lot more complicated. Perhaps now, she thought, was a good time to begin a dialogue and set some ground rules. "Just because I'm letting you live here _doesn't_ mean I'm letting you anywhere _near_ my bedroom, and correspondingly _bathroom_ , got it!? If I am remembering correctly, _you_ were going to let me die in a helicopter crash. That does _not_ merit any of _this._ " She gestured to her shapely curves.

Cheeks tinting red, the Saiyan snarled. "Vulgar woman," he growled, in addition to other obscenities as he slammed the gravity room door.

Bulma sighed. "Yup," she muttered to herself, "this is going to get _awkward._ "


	3. Chapter 3

Oh, these two!

Disclaimer: I don't own them, of course :)

III.

Games

"Ok, it's time for _you_ to earn your keep around here!" Bulma bustled through the kitchen, both hands fidgeting unsuccessfully with an earring. "I need you to watch Trunks tonight. Got it?" She paused, finally attaching the piece of jewelry, and stared at the re-hydrating Saiyan before her. He prickled, displeased with her commanding tone, and the insinuation that he owed her anything.

"Can your mother not tend to it?" He demanded, eyeing the beautiful heiress. She was obviously dressed for some occasion, her hourglass figure hugged by a short black garment and hair gathered into a woven mass at the base of her neck. He pushed away the annoying, yet desirable imagery of pulling the turquoise locks free with an eager hand, and sliding the other up her skirt.

"No, she and Dad are out of town for the next few days. I told you that _yesterday,_ so I guess you weren't listening. No surprise there," the scientist huffed. "Anyway, I know you want to be all 'hands-on' with Trunks, so you can start tonight."

At this, Vegeta made a fist. "I _said_ I wanted to train him. He is an infant, he is unfit for training and of no use to me currently."

Tapping her foot, Bulma crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. "Well, if he's _no use_ to you, I guess he doesn't need anyone to watch him! He can just roll over and suffocate in his crib. Or even better, fall down and knock his head—then maybe he'll turn out like Goku! Whatever happens, happens! It really doesn't matter, he's _no use_ to you!"

"You have made your _point,_ woman!" the Saiyan growled, squeezing his helpless water bottle into a useless crumple of plastic. "What does he require?"

"I already fed, burped, changed and put him to bed. The only thing he needs is your attention, ok? He wakes up and gets all fussy. I'll have my cell phone, so just call me if there's an emergency. You remember how to use the phone, right?" the scientist raised an eyebrow expectantly.

"I am certain that I am far more equipped to handle any emergency than you are," Vegeta assured the mother of his child.

Bulma sighed, interpreting this response to mean that the Saiyan had, indeed, forgotten how to use the phone. Or, he had simply been ignoring her when she showed him. Either way, it was frustrating and unhelpful, as everything with him _always_ was. "These emergencies will be less the-world-is-in-danger-must-do-martial-arts themed, and more on the baby-spit-up-is-more-than-usual side of things. But, if you think you can handle it, be my guest and _don't_ call me. I'll be back in a few hours."

"Where are you going?" The Saiyan probed moodily, before he could stop himself.

"Out with some friends, if that's ok with you, _Your Highness._ " Bulma pulled a compact from her purse, giving herself a final makeup check. Her attention distracted, Vegeta again studied her appearance. If this were a year ago, her parents away, she would have been attached to his mouth and hips. He remembered how previously, in their absence, she would tease and coax him into acts of intimacy throughout the house and compound. Now, however, it seemed she could not get away from him soon enough, her movements hurried as she brushed away any perceived imperfections round her face and hair. She was a witch, a wicked enchantress who had him insufferably ensnared. Why was she punishing him? Aside from being a much stronger warrior, which should have _increased_ her desire for him, he was the same as he had always been. He never pretended to be some sniveling sentimental, like Kakarot or any of her other friends. She knew what his priorities were, and that she was never one of them. Yet here they stood in an empty house, completely celibate, because he had been exactly who she knew him to be? It made no sense, and he hated it.

"I do not care what you do," he replied tersely, tearing his eyes from her.

The blue-haired beauty clicked her compact shut. "Then why'd you ask?" she inquired, expression so coy that it made Vegeta boil with rage. She knew what she was doing; it was all a game to her. But, he would not be treated like a fool, nor back down from her challenge.

When the Saiyan offered no answer to her question, Bulma rolled her eyes and turned for the door. Before she could make her exit, however, Vegeta was in front of her, so close she could feel his breath. She held her own, as even the slightest expand from an inhale would have prompted their bodies to touch. "My son requires you unharmed," he said darkly, voice almost a whisper. "I encourage you to be cautious. I would hate to punish you or any other human that should endanger this integral part of his rearing."

The scientist stared at the prince, her heart racing. After a moment, he shifted out of her way, and she pushed past him, muttering "weirdo" as she departed. Once outside, she took a deep breath of the cool evening air, letting it relieve the burning in her flushed face. What was with him? What was with _them_? She wasn't sure how much longer she could resist his perfect body and sexy bad-boy attitude, _especially_ if he was going to make a habit of being that close to her. Finally regaining her composure, she turned and shouted through the door: "You know, normal people just say _HAVE FUN, BE CAREFUL!"_


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Don't own DBZ or these great characters :)

IV.

Pathetic

Bulma quietly pushed the front door open and crept inside. She removed her chunky, sling-back wedges, and carried them with her as she tip-toed up the stairs to the nursery. Unsurprisingly, Vegeta was nowhere to be seen, but their son lay safely snoozing in his crib. She smiled, but did not dare touch him, as she knew he would begin to wail at the disturbance. Glancing at the baby monitor, satisfied it was in working order, she silently left the room and headed to her own. As she walked, she passed the closed door of Vegeta's designated quarters. She rarely saw him enter or exit it, and was, in fact, not entirely sure he ever slept there; she had once discovered a cot in the gravity room, and assumed that was where he bunked. Curiosity peaked, she stopped at the door, then pressed her ear against it.

"Someone's being a nosey woman." The gruff voice startled the scientist, and she covered her mouth with one hand, stifling a yip that would most certainly wake her sleeping child.

"I just wanted to know where you were. You're _supposed_ to be watching Trunks," she hissed, voice low.

"And _you_ were supposed to be back hours ago," Vegeta countered, arms crossed (as usual). His eyes traveled from the shoes dangling in her hand, to the torn sleeve of her dress, the smudge of her eye makeup, and finally landed on her mussed hair.

Uncomfortable under his gaze, Bulma crossed her own arms defensively. "I never said when I would be back, jerk," she huffed.

"I was instructed to watch the brat _tonight_. As of four hours ago, it is _today,_ " the Saiyan reminded her pointedly. "I must begin my training in two hours with insufficient rest." Truthfully, Vegeta was not too put out by the lost time. He had reached the legendary form, fought the androids, and Kakarot was in Otherworld; his reasons for training now only revolved around the abstract concept of "getting stronger," instead of a specific goal. He would, most likely, take the rest he needed, then train for only a half day. But, he did not want _his_ time to become expendable in her eyes.

Bulma sighed. "Fine, sorry," she replied in a tone which clearly read that she was not sorry at all. "You're excused. Go do whatever Saiyans do for rest, lie down and count corpses or whatever." As she turned for her room, however, the scientist felt a strong grasp on her arm. Vegeta whirled her around, eyes still fixated on the primary offenses of her disheveled appearance.

"You have been in an altercation," he stated, face serious.

"An _altercation_? Give me a break, Vegeta, nothing happened," she assured him, angrily jerking her arm out of his hold (although, she recognized she could only do this because he allowed it).

The Saiyan then took her chin in his hand, turning her face from side to side. "Your clothes are torn and your human face paint has run. I can smell the salt from your pathetic tears," he informed her.

This time, Bulma shoved the alien as hard as she could. She succeeded only in demonstrating her own physical weakness, but the greatness of her irritation was expressed. "You have some nerve to call _me_ pathetic. You're the one who still feels the need to act like tears, and any other sigh of having feelings is _pathetic_. If you ask me, you're the _saddest_ , most _pathetic_ person I know. I thought, after watching your own son _die_ , you'd loosen up a little and start realizing what's important. I guess I just set the bar _too_ high for you. Maybe someday I'll learn to stop routing for you." She threw her shoes at him, which he easily caught, although his face read that he was beyond confused. "And, if you _must_ know, yes, I was in an _altercation._ One of Yamcha's baseball buddied tried to get a piece of _this_ , so I gave him a piece of my mind—right between the legs!" She gave a forceful demonstration of this, kneeing her imaginary opponent, then turned on her heel and headed for the nursery, certain her loud winded monologue awoke the dreaming Trunks. No one messed with Bulma Briefs: not drunken athletes at parties, and _definitely_ not emotionally challenged Super Saiyans in her own home.

Dumbstruck, Vegeta watched the scientist parade away, her shoes still cradled in his arm.


	5. Chapter 5

I have a day off, so I'm updating twice today :) Don't get used to it, ya crazy kids! Anyway, I've been reading your reviews (as I promise to always do,) and wanted to respond to them. The number one comment I'm seeing is "longer chapters please!" Unfortunately, I won't budge much there—my writing style is short chapters, as I like to capture single moments; any time jump, even "five minutes later" will have to be a new chapter! Sorry if it ever leaves you hanging, but that's just how I roll. I've also gotten a PM and a review about NEEDING some jealous Veggie, which OF COURSE there will be :) Thanks for your reviews, and even more for reading. It's such great fun!

Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ or any of its loveable characters

V.

Reformed?

Trunks gurgled joyfully as Bulma spooned him his mushy breakfast; he seemed extra delighted when the food was delivered via perfect impersonation of an airplane (or flying Z fighter). "What a good eater!" the scientist cooed in her "mom" voice, grinning at the infant. "Hopefully, that's the _only_ thing you get from your father."

"Again, I'm really sorry about last night. He was so drunk he doesn't even remember doing it—just the knee part," Yamcha interrupted the feeding ritual, sipping on his coffee.

Bulma shook her head. "You really didn't need to stop by, it's totally fine. I'm used to men throwing themselves at me! And I can take care of myself, after all," she assured her old friend, putting Trunk's spoon down pulling him from the high chair.

Yamcha smiled. "I know you can," he said kindly. She wasn't lying—she'd done a number on the poor pitcher. But, he had deserved it, and Yamcha would have decked him himself if he had been in the room. "How did _his majesty_ fair with the kid?" he asked, glancing out the window at the gravity room, where Vegeta was undoubtedly training himself into the ground.

Bouncing Trunks on her knee, the heiress shrugged. "Fine, I guess. He made way more of a fuss over me going out than having to babysit." She recalled their exchange hours before; they had not yet seen each other since, and she was expecting a large amount of grumpiness as punishment for her outburst.

"Of course he did," the scar-faced man retorted, rolling his eyes. "You going out for the night, wearing that dress, to a party full of handsome and rich guys? I'd be worked up if you were my girl," he informed her, setting his coffee on the table and leaning back in his chair.

"I'm not _his_ girl," Bulma sharply corrected, turning up her nose.

"Say what? How does _that_ work?" Yamcha blinked, sitting up straight and staring at his coffee partner. "I just assumed-"

"Assumed what?" she interrupted, raising an eyebrow, "that we're together because we have Trunks? Come on, Yamcha, get with the times! This isn't the Stone Age!"

"Well, not just that, but he lives here, too! You don't think that's a little weird?" Yamcha pressed, eyes flashing again to the window, almost as if he were nervous the Saiyan could hear him.

"Well, of course it's a little _weird_ , but so is Vegeta. He's a reformed genocidal terrorist alien, who has, at times, transformed into a giant ape monster. Where is he going to go, the local Comfort Inn until he finds a nice office job?" Bulma tossed her hair; clearly, she was not afraid of Vegeta hearing anything she had to say about him. Yamcha wasn't sure if this made her courageous, or an idiot.

"Reformed?" he choked questioningly.

The scientist narrowed her eyes. "I want him to be around for Trunks. He's a half Saiyan boy—eventually, he's going to need his full Saiyan father."

Yamcha sighed. "I guess you're right. He does care about Trunks, at least; you should have seen the look on his face when Cell killed other Trunks. I'm not kidding Bulma, he went crazy."

Bulma bit her lip, unable to even imagine the scenario. If she thought she could stomach the sight of Trunks dying, she would have wished she had been there. Vegeta showing anything other than stoic moodiness seemed to her like an actual fairy tale. "He must have been really upset," she mused softly, more to herself than her coffee partner.

Standing, Yamcha nodded. "He was," he agreed as he put his mug in the sink. "Hey, I gotta run or I'll be late for practice. I'll be sure to _accidentally_ whack your friend from last night with a bat," he said cheekily.

Smiling, Bulma stood and hugged her old friend with one arm, Trunks cradled in the other. "Thanks," she said, "for stopping by, and also for whatever bat accident may occur in the future." She winked, then waved to him through the window while he headed to his car.

As Yamcha dug around in his pockets for his craft keys, he felt an ominously powerful ki behind him. Jumping, he turned and found himself face to face (or, more accurately, face to hair) with the Saiyan of the house. "Oh, h-hey Vegeta, what's up?" he stuttered, willing his knees not to shake.

Vegeta glared at the weaker warrior, his annoyance discernably seething. "What are you doing here?" he demanded.

"J-just checking on Bulma. We're friends, you know—JUST friends," Yamcha answered nervously, removing his hands from his pockets and holding them up as a gesture of innocence.

"What else would you be?" the Saiyan said darkly, the intensity of his eyes like fire.

"N-nothing, Vegeta! I mean, we used to—well, I mean, y-you know! But not anymore!" The baseball player began slowly backing away, hands still forming a proverbial white flag.

Vegeta rolled his eyes. "Please, idiot. I care not about your childhood romance. I am quite confident she's outgrown your weak, pitiable affections." As Yamcha began to breathe a sigh of relief, however, the Saiyan grabbed him by the shirt collar, pulling his face inches from his own. "You were with her last night?" he inquired menacingly.

Now visibly shaking, Yamcha nodded. "Yeah, we were at a party, that's all!"

Vegeta yanked the shirt again, so violently that Yamcha was sure he'd almost broken his neck. "And you let one of your filthy human friends attempt to defile her? That is disgraceful, even for a fool like you. Keep this man away from the mother of my offspring. Or I will _gladly_ kill you _both_." He released his hold, and Yamcha scrambled away, nodding vigorously.

"Of course, yeah, for sure!" Yamcha promised as he dove into his car, fumbled the keys into the ignition, and sped away.

With a snort and a muttered, inaudible insult, Vegeta turned and made his way back to the gravity room, suddenly feeling extremely motivated to destroy something.

Bulma, having watched the entire exchange from the kitchen window, sat back down at the table, speechless and eyes wide.


	6. Chapter 6

Thanks so much for all of your favorites, follows and reviews! It means the world. Don't forget to check out my other stories, which are all B/V as of currently ;)

Disclaimer: you know the drill!

VI.

Something More

"Hey, you," Bulma said casually, catching sight of the Saiyan Prince from the corner of her eye as he passed through the house, undoubtedly headed for dinner. "How's the training?" she asked, although her attention was visibly focused on producing funny faces with which to entertain the infant in her arms.

Vegeta paused and frowned, watching the exchange with disinterest. "Why do you ask?" he inquired stiffly, suspicious of her less-than-livid attitude with him.

The scientist shrugged, eyes still preoccupied by her son. "Just thought it would be nice to talk for a minute," she replied. "It gets so boring around here when Mom and Dad are gone, and you scare away all of my friends." And there it was. She finally looked at the Saiyan, tongue pressed to her cheek.

"You are referring to that pathetic excuse for a warrior," Vegeta verified, crossing his arms.

"If that's what we're calling _Yamcha_ now, then yes." She stood and approached the Saiyan, careful to keep her eyes from wandering across his shirtless, sculpted torso. "What did you say to him?" she demanded. "You had no right to treat him that way!"

" _He_ has no right to come here and burden my patience with his worthlessness and stupidity," Vegeta countered, teeth gritted. "I simply warned him that, if he wishes to continue gallivanting about with my son's caretaker, I will require him to be less careless and embarrassing."

Bulma massaged her temples with her free hand. "I am not your _son's caretaker_ , I am his mother, Vegeta. And Yamcha is not my body guard—just like _you_ are not my body guard," she said, then paused and sighed. "Listen, I'm thrilled that you're all _invested_ in Trunks now, don't get me wrong, but that doesn't have anything to do with me and how I live my life. You are _not_ going to move into _my_ house, and start bossing my friends and me around. I do whatever I want, and always have."

At this, the Saiayn's eyes narrowed, and he took a step closer to the scientist. "Foolish woman, have you forgotten my awesome power? I could make you do whatever _I_ want," he said darkly.

Also taking a step forward, Bulma closed the distance between them, leaving only room enough for the child in her arms. "Then do it," she dared mischievously, knowing full well he had meant something more along the lines of I-could-lock-you-in-the-house-and-smash-your-car than I-could-have-my-way-with-you, but counted on his prudish discomfort to ensure her victory.

Her hunch accurate, Vegeta's cheeks tinted crimson, and he backed away, shaking his head. "You've made it very clear that you do not desire to continue our— _physical_ partnership. Yet, you mock me with this and other gestures. You are insufferably fickle, and I do not know what it is that you expect me to do."

"Maybe stop being a jerk. That would be a start," Bulma bit, returning her gaze to Trunks. "It's not that I _don't_ want to sleep with you, Vegeta. I mean, honestly, I think we can both agree it's a _pre-tty_ great experience-" the tips of Vegeta's ears now matched his burning face—"but, I need something _more_ than endless physical stamina. I need an _emotional_ connection."

At this, the warrior choked. "You can't be serious?" he growled, his annoyance, disgust and embarrassment all audible.

"And _why_ wouldn't I be?" the heiress shot. "Think about all of the things I've done for you! Now, I _challenge_ you, name one thing you've _ever_ done for me."

"I have _spared_ your life on numerous occasions, even when your insolence merited otherwise," Vegeta insisted.

Bulma released a guttural, exasperated shriek. "I don't do things for you because I'm afraid you'll _kill_ me if I don't, you idiot! I do things for you because I _care_ about you, despite my better judgment. Considering I'm the only person in the _whole universe_ who does, I guess I was just expecting a little mutuality! Or even acknowledgement, for that matter." She shook her head. "Whatever. It isn't your fault I apparently have a weakness for narcissistic mass-murderers. Forget I even mentioned it." She shifted Trunks in her arms, then produced a phone from the back pocket of her jeans. "There's no food in the house. At least not by _your_ standards, anyway, so I'll order some pizza. Just, please, go put a shirt on."

As the heiress retreated to the kitchen, her conversation with the pizza restaurant distantly discernable, Vegeta turned her words over in his mind. She _cared_ about him? And the other night, she said she always _rooted_ for him? Why? He had never given her reason to, and certainly never asked for it, nor would he be demonstrating any gestures of emotional attachment to her. However, she had been correct in identifying herself as the only being in the universe that cared for him, aside perhaps from their son… _their_ son. He felt a strange tug in the pit of his stomach, but designated the foreign feeling to hunger as he went to retrieve a shirt.


	7. Chapter 7

Sorry for a wee little serious chapter ~ I'll make it up to you with plentiful humor in the next one (maybe).

;)

Thanks again for all the reviews, favorites and follows!

Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Ball Z, or any of these characters :)

VII.

Palpable Pain

"Thanks again for baby-sitting, Gohan, you're a life saver!" Bulma exclaimed as she gently passed her son to the half-Saiyan teen before her. "I feel silly asking, but I have _got_ to finish this project before my deadline tomorrow, and while my parents are still out of town, I'm left with only Mr.-Unhelpful-You-Know-Who, who apparently does _not_ watch sons during training hours." The genius tossed her hair indignantly, glaring through the wall in the general direction of the gravity room.

Chuckling, Gohan smiled. "It's no big deal. Actually, it gives me an excuse to get out of the house for a while. Mom's been a little… _uptight_." Since Goku's decision to stay in Otherword, and Chi Chi's progressing pregnancy, the Son household had been stressful, to say the least. When Bulma called to offer Gohan a considerable chunk of cash in exchange for an afternoon of playing with baby Trunks at the Capsule Corp. compound, the half-Saiyan eagerly accepted; truthfully, he would have done it for free. "How is Vegeta, anyway? I can't believe he's really staying on Earth."

"Yeah, me neither. But, that's what he says." Bulma sighed and crossed her arms. "You must think I'm crazy," she mused. "I know he's…you know, _him_ , but I can't help it. I've just got this huge soft spot for the guy."

Unsure of what to say, Gohan shrugged. "You know, he saved my life on Namek," he began after a moment, "when Frieza showed up before my Dad got there." Remembering the occasion still brought a chill to the young half-Saiyan, and truthfully, he made a conscious effort to think about it as little as possible. "Knowing him, he doesn't like to talk about it; saying he lost that fight would be a major understatement." He cringed. "But, even when it was obvious that he didn't stand a chance, he didn't give up. Frieza tortured him…it went on and on…" at this, Gohan paused, his jaw clenched. "All I could do was watch. It was the hardest thing I've ever done. I don't think I could have if Piccolo wasn't there to hold me back. But Vegeta never begged, never stopped fighting, never quit. He took everything until his body was so broken he couldn't move. It was awful. When he finally knew he was a goner, he told my Dad about how Frieza had killed his father and enslaved him. Then he begged Dad to kill Frieza so he couldn't do it to anyone else."

Suddenly unsteady, Bulma felt her way into the nearest chair. "Kami…he's never said…I mean, I guess I knew Frieza killed the other Saiyans when he blew up the planet…but I never…" She felt the sting of tears and blinked them away.

The teen nodded solemnly. "He may not be my favorite person, but I respect him. Who knows what I'd be like if I were in his shoes," he said thoughtfully, face serious.

Compelling the images of a tortured Vegeta out of her mind, the scientist shook her head and forced a smile. "I'm sure you'd still be the great kid you are now!" she insisted, reaching out and putting a hand on his shoulder. She was glad her son had Gohan as a role model—in all timelines. "Now, I'll be in my lab on the underground floor, and Vegeta will undoubtedly be in the gravity room for the day. The rest of the house is all yours! Help yourself to anything in the kitchen, and just come and get me if Trunks gets too cranky."

"Ok, will do!" Gohan assured the heiress, making a concerted effort to change his tone and lift the heaviness from the room.

"Thanks, kiddo." With a final thumbs-up, Bulma stood and walked briskly to her lab. Once inside, she secured the door, then sank to the floor, her tears uncontrollable. She was not an idiot; she had witnessed the night terrors which plagued the Saiyan (on the rare occasions she saw him sleeping), assumed his past was not a favorable one, and knew his obnoxious attitude must have been rooted in something dark from this said past. But, the picture painted by Gohan was too real. It made her skin crawl and heart swell with palpable pain—pain, she knew, signaled something she feared.


	8. Chapter 8

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VIII.

Scars

Head resting on her elbows, Bulma stared at the blueprints scattered across her desk. Focusing on her work was proving to be extra challenging; her mind continued to drift, primarily to the stubborn Saiyan she shared a child with. The only thing more frustrating than _him_ was how much space in her brain he consumed. Whether she was thinking of ways to irritate him, being irritated by him, fantasizing about him naked, trying _not_ to fantasize about him naked, wishing he would change or worrying about him, he was always there, tattooed with undeniable permanence in her stream of consciousness. With a deep breath, she tried to redirect her concentration. "Come on, Bulma. This needs to get done _today_ ," she reminded herself aloud. As she skimmed over her next blueprint, however, she heard a faint clatter from the opposite side of her lab. Confused, she swiveled around. "Hello?"

Haphazardly digging through the first aid kit mounted on the wall, the scientist spied her Saiyan companion, back turned towards her, apparently uninterested in answering her greeting. She rolled her eyes. How typical. "Hey, how'd you get in here?" she asked, standing up and approaching him.

"The door, idiot woman," he muttered, tone more irritated than usual. "Why is Kakarot's brat here?" He pulled out a bottle of antiseptic and eyed it, seemingly deciding whether or not it would be useful to him.

"I have to work today, so he's babysitting Trunks. You shouldn't be so grumpy about it—if he does it, you don't have to," Bulma pointed out, choosing to ignore his "idiot woman" remark. She leaned against the wall next to the first aid kit, studying the Saiyan. The light in the lab was not ideal, but she could easily make out a large burn on his upper right arm and shoulder. "Ouch, that looks like it stings. What happened, the bots too fast for you?" she asked with a wink; his most recent complaint about the training bots had been their inability to challenge his speed.

Vegeta frowned, unamused by her quip. "I've been distracted today," he muttered, struggling to wrap a bandage around his wound with a single hand.

"Hm, that's not very like you," the scientist stated, taking the bandage from the Saiyan and gently tending to the burn. Internally, she noted that it was also unlike him to stop training for a non-life threatening injury; in fact, it was unlike him to stop training for _any_ injury that allowed him to remain conscious. "What's so distracting?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"It is none of your business," Vegeta retorted, though he allowed her to continue dressing his arm. Truthfully, he had been pushing away thoughts of _her_ all day; his immense desire for the beautiful heiress was becoming unbearable. Even her touch now, completing a seemingly mundane task, sent electricity through his veins. There were first aid kits scattered throughout the compound—he had come here, whether he would admit it to himself or not, for this interaction with her.

"Right, right, sorry, I won't fain interest again. My apologies, your majesty," Bulma drawled, sarcasm heavy in her request for forgiveness. As she finished bandaging the new damage, the scientist's eyes drifted across the warrior's chest, taking in the many scars which decorated it. Gohan's story still fresh in her mind, she swallowed, then let her hand slide across the most prominent, cringe-worthy mark. "Did Frieza do this to you?" she asked quietly, looking into his eyes, face suddenly serious.

Surprised, Vegeta frowned. "Why?" he demanded, voice harsh, yet posture welcoming of her caress. The warmth of her hands was maddening

Bulma shook her head. "It doesn't matter, nevermind," she answered, positive he would be embarrassed/completely pissed off to learn of her and Gohan's earlier conversation. Despite herself, she leaned forward and pressed her cheek against his chest, her lips brushing the raised line of the scar. "Just…don't get hurt anymore," she commanded as she traced another long-healed wound, then slipped her hand up and around his neck.

Wary to return her touch, as he feared this would terminate the exchange, Vegeta leaned into her embrace. "I am a warrior; warriors are often injured. Why is it of any concern to you?" he prodded, making a concerted effort to keep his tone even while fighting the blinding impulse to throw her against the wall and tear off her clothes.

"You _know_ why," Bulma insisted, bringing her face closer to his. "I care about you, remember?"

Her lips only an inch from his own, the Saiyan finally allowed his hands to grasp her, each traveling around her waist and up her back. As soon as their lips feverishly locked, however, there was a knock at the lab door. "Hey Bulma, I think Trunks wants you! He won't stop crying!" Gohan called, voice discernable through the wall and infant wails.

Instantly, the scientist pushed herself away. "Coming, Gohan!" she shouted, straightening her clothes and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She glared at Vegeta. "Nice try!" she snapped accusatorily, turning for the door.

"N-nice try? Are you joking!?—I wasn't—YOU started it!" he stuttered, making a fist and shaking it at her back as she exited. "Curse you, Kakarot. Even dead, you continue to be a thorn in my side," he grumbled, contentedly assigning Gohan and all of his actions to Goku's doing. He looked down at his arm, which had been so tenderly dressed, and clenched his jaw. What was his problem? Why was he growing so attached to the foolish Earth woman? It was beyond infuriating.


	9. Chapter 9

I want to give a huge shout out to all of the reviewers! I am so touched by your kind words—they mean so much to me! I even took a little screen shot of some of them, and read them when I'm down…it isn't creepy…ANYWAY I hope you all continue to enjoy :) Thank you so much!

IX.

Like Mother Like Daughter

"You _kissed_? That's great!" Mrs. Brief exclaimed, cheek pressed to her laced fingers. "I had a funny little feeling you two would get back together with the house _all_ to yourselves!"

"It is _not_ great, Mom! It's terrible! Well, ok, that's an exaggeration…it's not terrible, it's _annoying_ , it's…" the blue-haired scientist searched for a fitting adjective, rolling her eyes at her mother. "It's complicated," she said finally, sighing.

Mrs. Brief offered her grandson, squirming contentedly in his highchair, a spoonful of applesauce. "What's so complicated? Was it a bad kiss?" she pried, waving the kitchen utensil haphazardly with her gestures.

"Careful, you'll take his eye out! You feed him way too much," Bulma grumbled, snatching the spoon and setting it just out of the matriarch's reach. "No, of _course_ it wasn't bad. That would have been _better_."

Mrs. Brief blinked. "You want him to be a bad kisser? I don't think I'm following you," she admitted, making no attempt to reclaim the applesauce ladle, attention span already redirected by the juicy topic. She found Vegeta to be not only a _very_ hard worker, but also incredibly handsome; when Bulma had announced their indefinite split, Mrs. Brief had been quite disappointed. Helicopter-shmelicopter—everyone makes mistakes! It was her sincere hope that Bulma would give the good-looking Prince a second chance, especially if it meant he would be sticking around the compound.

"Yes! If he were bad at kissing and—kissing," Bulma cleared her throat, her mother leaning a little too close for comfort, "it would be way easier to ignore him and just move on. But we have this crazy physical chemistry that neither one of us can seem to get around! Clearly, I know what _he_ sees in _me_. But why am _I_ so hung up on _him_?"

Choosing to ignore the obvious his-body-is-perfect point, Mrs. Brief stroked her chin. "Well, he's super brave! And dedicated! And strong!"

Bulma raised a suspicious eyebrow. "You're really trying to sell me on this," she said pointedly. "I mean, you're not wrong, he _is_ all of those things. But he's also a huge jerk, and potentially incapable of feeling anything other than anger, pride, and hatred."

"Oh sweetie, that's ridiculous! He doesn't hate you. And he definitely doesn't hate Trunks!" The blonde pinched Trunks's cheek, who in-turn responded with a chillingly Vegeta-esque glare. "So there must be another feeling in there somewhere!"

The scientist had to admit, her mother made a good point. He cared about Trunks; that was something. "I guess you're right," she agreed. "I just wish he could _show_ me that."

"Maybe that's just not his way!" Mrs. Brief suggested, somehow able to sound cheerful and defensive at the same time. "He's not from Earth, after all. We can't expect the poor guy to do everything the way we do it here!"

Pausing, Bulma furrowed her brow. That was two valid arguments in a row from her usually clueless mother; it was evident the older woman had put a lot of thought into her defense of the grumpy Saiyan. "Besides your weird crush and living-vicariously-through-me thing," she began, "why are you always pushing for me to be with him? Most Moms would _not_ be happy if their daughter brought home a mean, alien warlord, then created a half-alien baby with him out of wedlock."

"Ex-warlord," Mrs. Brief chimed.

"…Right." Bulma noted how similar this conversation felt to the one she had just shared with Yamcha, herself now in the role of the concerned scarred warrior, and her mother playing the Bulma-card, rooting for and defending Vegeta. Mrs. Brief was oblivious to a lot of things, but she had a big heart, and was generally a decent judge of character. If she, too, believed there was something worthwhile to the Saiyan Prince, perhaps Bulma wasn't as crazy as the rest of the Z-fighters believed her to be; perhaps she wasn't as crazy as she believed _herself_ to be.

"Ah, speak of the devil!" Mrs. Brief's exclamation snapped Bulma from her musings, and she looked up in time to see the Saiyan in question pass through the room. He paused, turning to eye the pair suspiciously.

"What do you mean, _speak of the devil?_ " he demanded, the tips of his ears tinting red at the allusion that the two women had been talking about him. Especially, he realized, after the events of the previous day.

Bulma's cheeks threatening to match his ears, and she shook her head. "It's just an expression! Don't you have some bots to blow up, nosey?" she shot angrily.

Clenching his fists, Vegeta snarled and glared at the heiress. "I've already blown them all up. _You_ can fix them tonight," he growled.

"It's good to see you today, Vegeta! Don't you look nice!" Both Bulma and Vegeta halted their exchange, eyes shifting to look at Mrs. Brief. The woman's inability to read a situation was absolutely remarkable—that, or she was a master diffuser. Either way, the Saiyan's posture relaxed. He nodded awkwardly at the older woman, then shot Bulma a final glower before retreating to his quarters. "See," Mrs. Brief said, swatting the air, "he can be a nice boy! And he looks very handsome in those shorts!"

Bulma pinched the bridge of her nose. "Unbelievable," she muttered.


	10. Chapter 10

Two updates in one day! Sometimes it happens ;) Thanks again for all follows, favorites and reviews! I appreciate you all so much and hope you continue to enjoy the story :)

Disclaimer: Don't own DBZ or the characters!

X.

Mean

Bulma smiled at the half empty bottle of wine on the coffee table, then shifted her gaze to her _entirely_ empty wine glass. "Well that's no good," she said to herself mischievously, setting her glass on the table and filling it once more. It had been quite some time since the scientist treated herself to a night of delicious, inhibition lowering indulgence, and she intended to make the most of it. Her mother had Trunks, her father was asleep, and Vegeta was training; tonight was _Bulma_ night. She followed a sip of the dry, red wine with a contrastingly sweet and juicy strawberry. Kami, it didn't get better than—

"What on Earth are you doing?" interrupting the heiress's contented relaxing was the terse voice of the one being in the whole universe she currently wanted to deal with the least.

"I'm having fun. Leave me alone before you ruin it," she shot, concentration fixed on keeping her words from slurring.

"Where is my son?" the Saiyan continued, eyes narrowing.

Swallowing a second strawberry, Bulma returned his glare. " _Our_ son is with my mother. What is this, twenty questions? GO. A. WAY."

Vegeta, who perhaps would have preferred they avoid each other for the evening, felt compelled to assert his position as one who would not be taking orders from anyone, _especially_ her. He approached her and crossed his arms, eyeing the now almost empty wine bottle. "This is the beverage which Earthlings use to lower their intellect for entertainment?" he asked. The concept had always been quite absurd to him.

"A variety of it, yes," Bulma answered, rolling her eyes. "You don't have to make it sound so stupid. I bet you'd like it if you tried it," she grumbled, scooting over to free up a couch cushion. "Come on, don't just stand there all _you_ like. If you're not gonna leave me alone, at least sit down. You're making me uncomfortable." She patted the seat next to her.

Hesitantly, the Saiyan sat, noting the clumsiness of the woman's motions as she reached for the bottle and handed it to him. He sniffed it, then took a swig, which he immediately regretted. "This is foul," he replied, forcefully handing the bottle back to her.

The scientist shrugged. "It's an acquired taste. Guess that means I'll have to drink it all by myself," she said cheekily, this time unable to hide the subtle slur of her speech.

"That's what you said about coffee," he reminded her, which, despite her insistence that he would someday grow to love and proceed to drink copious and expensive amounts of, he still hated.

Her glass now empty again, Bulma proceeded to polish off the wine from the bottle. "Surprise, surprise, another thing I got wrong about you," she retorted, waving the index finger of her free hand like an imaginary noise maker.

"And what is that supposed to mean?" Vegeta snapped, crossing his arms.

Leaning closer to the warrior, Bulma fumbled the finished bottle onto the coffee table. "I thought you actually liked me," she accused, poking his muscular shoulder. "But I think I was wrong. I think you just like my breasts and my gravity room."

Nearly choking, Vegeta's face flushed and he swatted her hand away. "I have no idea what you are going on about, vulgar woman!" he insisted, surprised that even she would say something so brazen. He glanced at the wine bottle, distantly wondering if there was a limit as to how much of the beverage a human could safely consume.

"Yes you _do!_ " the heiress insisted, the volume of her voice suddenly raised. Before the Saiyan could protest, Bulma climbed into his lap, arms slung around his neck. She leaned in and kissed him passionately, then proceeded to suck on his ear, which she happened to know he was a sucker for. "You _want_ me, but you don't like me," she whispered, her hand traveling across his chest, then slowly dipping lower.

Stunned, Vegeta caught her meandering hand and held it firmly by the wrist. "You've had too much to drink. You are behaving foolishly," he insisted, willing his least easily controlled muscle to keep from betraying him.

"So you _don't_ want me?" Bulma slurred, pulling back to look him in the eyes, but unable to focus on one set of the multiple pairs swirling before her. Abruptly, she regretted drinking the whole bottle, as she realized its effects were now beyond her power of control.

"Certainly not like this," the Saiyan answered, releasing her hand.

Hurt, the scientist wheeled away from him, clambering out of his lap and to her feet. "Fine, then!" she growled. As she turned to leave, however, she tripped on the coffee table and tumbled forward. Effortlessly, Vegeta caught her before she could make contact with its corner, holding her resolutely until she could find her balance. Unable to steady herself, Bulma initially clutched the arm which supported her, then quickly resorted to pounding on it with balled fists. "Let me go, you don't care if I fall! All you care about is stupid androids and stupid Super Saiyans and stupid Goku and being a stupid jerk! I was wrong again—you don't even care about my breasts! Take them off the list!"

As the Saiyan held tight and allowed the drunken woman to continue beating him, he suddenly felt the drip of warm liquid against his skin; he realized, to his horror, that she was now crying. He gritted his teeth and wished he could go back in time, a la Trunks, and have left the woman alone like she asked. No point he had been trying to prove was worth this insufferable interaction. "What are you doing _now?_ " he demanded, certain he would regret the inquisition. Human women were so _bizarre—_ especially this one.

"I'm just mad," she sniffed. "It's all Frieza's fault, isn't it? I hate him. He made you so _mean_. Nothing I do changes it." Her words drifted off, and her body relaxed against the Saiyan as she quietly wept, energy spent.

Surprised by the comment, Vegeta said nothing, but allowed her to rest in his arms. He had never shared any details with her about his time under Frieza's control—it must have been Kakarot's son, as she had been acting stranger than usual since his visit. He had only relayed the truth of his past to Kakarot when he believed himself to be dying; others knowing was not something he had anticipated living with. The idea of her taking pity on him filled him with shame and annoyance, yet also triggered the sting of some other feeling, one that was harder to identify.

"Go away. I wanna go to bed. Go away so I can go to bed. Right now," Bulma mumbled, body practically limp.

"And how are you going to manage that?" the warrior stated quizzically, feeling the increased weight with which she leaned on him. Accepting her unintelligible groan as an admittance of defeat, Vegeta hoisted her into his arms and carried her to her room.


	11. Chapter 11

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Disclaimer: Don't own DBZ, of course

XI.

Infatuation

The morning rays of sun, which Bulma usually found to be quite pleasant, burned through the window and into the eyes of the barely-awake heiress with an unwanted, white hot intensity. She groaned, then pulled her plush comforter over her head, forming a fetal position within the blanket cocoon. As the scientist tallied the parts of her body which throbbed, churned, or felt otherwise _off_ , pieces of the evening began to flood her memory. "Oh Kami, no…" She sat up, cheeks red and eyes threatening to water from sheer embarrassment. "No, no, no!"

"Oh good, you're awake!" Mrs. Brief bustled into the bedroom, brandishing a tray of breakfast, coffee, juice and aspirin. "How're you feeling?"

Massaging her eyes, the heiress shook her head. "Terrible. _Worse_ than terrible," she paused, feebly looking up. "Wait, how did you know I'd have a hangover?"

"Hangover? Goodness, I don't know anything about that!" Mrs. Brief replied, setting the tray in her daughter's lap. "Vegeta asked me to watch Trunks and check on you! He said you were sick last night."

"He said what?" Bulma gratefully downed the aspirin with a mouthful of juice, then moved to her coffee cup.

"That you were sick!" the older woman repeated, perching on the end of the bed. "He found me in the kitchen, bright and early as usual—he's so dedicated!—and told me you were unfit to watch Trunks for the day. Such a good father!"

Rolling her eyes, the blue-haired scientist placed her mug back on the tray, then pushed the whole spread out of her lap. "I'm not even going merit that comment with a rebuttal," she muttered, sliding out from under her blankets. "I have to go talk to him. Last night was a mess. Is he in the gravity room? No, never mind, don't answer that. I don't know why I bother asking." As she ducked into her exceedingly large closet to peel off her clothes from the night before (replacing them with the comfiest sweater and legging combo she could produce,) Bulma mentally rehearsed what she would say to the Saiyan. What was there _to_ say? She supposed she should apologize—but the idea of apologizing to him made her skin crawl. Although still undecided, the brushed her hair, took another swig of coffee, and marched to the gravity room.

The sun outside was infinitely more insufferable than it had been in her room. Bulma squinted, the solar brightness intensifying her pounding headache. Timidly, she knocked on the gravity room door and waited, beseeching her angry stomach not to flip and weak knees not to shake. After a moment, the door shot open, and Vegeta stood before her. "Hey," she said awkwardly, uncertain as to what tone she wanted to take with him; her go-to-, you've-really-done-it-now-you-jerk seemed inappropriate for the occasion.

The Saiyan raised an eyebrow, studying the pathetic appearance of the woman. "Have the effects of the alcohol expired?" he asked stiffly.

"Only the embarrassing ones," the scientist quipped, giving a nervous laugh. "Look, about last night," she began, but Vegeta cut her off.

"I would like nothing more than to never speak of those events again," he said, crossing his arms. "Now, if you are quite finished bothering me, I need to complete my training."

Bulma blinked. "Erm, yeah, sure," she answered, shifting and wrapping her arms around herself. However, as the Saiyan turned to seal the door, she cleared her throat. "Wait, I can't just _not_ say anything about it. For once, I didn't come out here to give you a hard time. I came to apologize, ok? I wasn't expecting to see you last night, and I just got carried away with the wine and the…words." She paused, deciding to leave the description at that. "I'm really sorry. It won't happen again. So, let's just agree to your plan and _never_ , ever mention it again, _ever_. Deal?"

The warrior narrowed his eyes, but nodded hesitantly, agreeing this was indeed the best course of action. Nevertheless, as he looked at her, he couldn't help but feel the tug of desire to revisit their _compromising_ position of the previous night. Even swaddled in her oversized garment, she radiated undeniable allure.

Feeling his eyes upon her, Bulma let her arms fall to her sides, and she leaned against the door frame. "Before we activate our it-never-happened plan, can I ask you something?" she probed gently.

"If I say no, you are only going to pester me until you have retrieved your answer," Vegeta grumbled pointedly, jaw working.

"True," the heiress agreed with a grin. "So, might as well, right?" She gazed at the Saiyan, her face shifting to one of thoughtfulness. "Why didn't you just, you know, have your way with me last night? On Earth, it's frowned upon to take advantage of drunk women—but I won't kid myself into thinking you know or care about any of that. If I remember correctly, I was _begging_ you to do it. We both _know_ you still want this. _So_ , why didn't you help yourself when given the opportunity?"

Face flushed, Vegeta growled. "You are the most vulgar creature I have ever encountered," he spat, temper flaring. However, he checked himself, posture and volume diffusing slightly. "One of the many reasons I find my infatuation with you so intolerably baffling," he added, shaking his head.

Surprised he would admit such a thing, Bulma made a conscious effort to look un-phased, utilizing her silence to invite the stoic Prince to expand upon his insight. Her tactic successful, Vegeta continued. "Conversely, the qualities you possess that I am most attracted to are your intellect and your pride. Last night, you had neither."

"Ouch," Bulma replied, hiding her satisfaction at the Saiyan's reveal. "I guess I can't argue there." Easing away from the metal doorframe, she gave a casual farewell wave. "Well, I'll let you get back to it, then. Commence never-speak-of-it-again mode! Oh, and try and make an appearance for dinner—Mom's cooking, and you know how much she likes it when you go all super-saiyan over her food."

Vegeta grumbled an inaudible, irritated complaint and closed the door. Filled with a sudden sense of triumph, Bulma glided back to the house.


	12. Chapter 12

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XII.

Boyfriend

As she brushed her turquoise tresses, the Capsule Corps heiress stared at her reflection in the large bedroom vanity. She had to admit—she looked _good_. If great self-esteem was a crime, she, Bulma Brief, was extraordinarily guilty…guilty, but not apologetic. Dreamily, she set her brush aside and rested her chin on her hands. It seemed, ever since her grown son had returned to the future, she could see him in the mirror just as easily as she could see herself. His resemblance to her was uncanny; however, his resemblance to Vegeta was just as remarkable. He had, without a doubt, inherited the best of both of them. She hoped he was having a good night, or day, or _whatever, wherever_ , _whenever_ he was. Interrupting the beautiful scientist from her motherly thoughts, she spied the reflection of the cross-armed prince, leaning against a wall behind her. Surprised, she spun around in her chair, eyes narrowing. "What are you doing in here?" she demanded indignantly. "You can't come in here anymore, _remember_? We discussed this."

The Saiyan rolled his eyes. "How long are you going to play this insufferable game?" he growled, teeth clenched.

Bulma blinked. "What _game_?" she retorted, genuinely confused. "I'm not playing _any_ game!"

"Right," Vegeta countered, tone unabashedly sarcastic.

"Seriously, what are you talking about?" The scientist stood from her chair, now almost eye level with the irritated warrior. There had been many times she wished Vegeta was taller (primarily revolving around the ease with which different sexual positions could be achieved) ; there were an equal amount of times she enjoyed his less-than-tall stature, enabling her to easily get _right_ in his face.

The Saiyan huffed. "I have, on _numerous_ occasions, stated my desire for you. It is humiliating, and I will not do so again." He shifted, suddenly appearing uncharacteristically uncertain. "I realize you are angry with me, as you _always_ are, for whatever stupid reason you've settled on _this_ time, but I do not understand why _this_ occasion has merited an end to all physical relations—especially when _you_ , blunderingly intoxicated, have revealed that you, too, desire me."

Paling, Bulma cleared her throat. "Oh…that game," she muttered, biting her lip and averting eye contact only long enough to adequately fuel her retort. "Well, for your _information_ , your Highness, _I_ am mad at you because you not only acted like an egotistical jerk the _whole_ time you guys fought the andorids and Cell, but also because you were going to let me and _your_ son die! DIE, Vegeta! I don't know how boyfriends acted on planet Vegeta, but on Earth, that is NOT how we do things!"

Face crimson, the prince made a fist. "I do not know what a _boyfriend_ is, but I am quite certain I am not, nor ever will be one," he snarled. "I stayed on Earth to become a Super Saiyan, and destroy the androids-"

"WELL YOU DID THAT," the scientist shouted, eyes suddenly stinging with salt. "You did that, Vegeta, the androids were beaten and you're a freaking Super Saiyan! Congratulations! I guess Trunks and I are just consolation prizes. Not even—usually, people _like_ prizes."

"You _never_ let me finish what I am saying, you irritating woman!" Vegeta snapped, eye twitching. "Yes, that _is_ how it was. I did not care for you, nor the child, and your presence on that day was nothing but one of your typical, irksome distractions."

"Is this you getting to the point?" Bulma snapped, foot tapping. "Because as far as I'm concerned, the hole is just getting deeper-"

"Will you SHUT UP?" The Saiyan punched the wall closest to him, his fist sliding through the plaster and metal as if the walls were melted butter.

Resisting the urge to order him out of the room in her shrillest, most angry voice, Bulma nodded, allowing him to continue. She liked that wallpaper; she had picked it out with great excitement after the _last_ hole the explosive alien had created.

"I _said_ , I _did_ not care for you or Trunks. Surely you are smart enough to gather the context of this without me having to spell it out for you," Vegeta said through his teeth, making an intense effort to lower his racing heart, heavy breathing and overwhelming urge to continue his onslaught of the wall. No one had ever made him angrier than this Earth woman could. Not Frieza, not the androids, not even Kakarot. It was all part of her inexplicable hold over him. The hold, he was realizing (with immense terror), he never wanted her to let go of.

"Spell it out or get out," the heiress said sharply, posture and affect unrelenting.

The Saiyan scoffed. "You have some nerve," he said darkly, approaching her.

His scent was irresistible, and his body seemed to radiate its own gravitational pull. "So I've been told," Bulma replied smoothly, also stepping closer to the warrior.

He reached out a strong hand and placed it on her hip, pulling her to him with ease. His other hand traveled to her opposite hip, untucking the hem of her blouse and sliding under it. "The Prince of All Saiyans takes orders from no one," he breathed, teeth grazing her ear.

"Why, Vegeta, are you trying to seduce me? I think I've been a bad influence on you," the beautiful scientist said coyly, allowing his hands to wander. However, as his fingers felt their way under the wire of her bra, Bulma caught his wrist. "Nice try," she whispered, tongue vengefully tracing the lobe of his ear. "Get out."

Stunned, the Saiyan forcefully retracted his hands. "You aren't serious?"

"Aren't I? Say, 'I love you, Bulma,' or Get. Out." She crossed her arms; it was frightening how good his usual stance looked on her.

"I will say _no_ such thing, _ever_ ," Vegeta assured her, fist threatening to greet the wall a second time.

"Then you will also touch _no_ such breasts. _Ever_." Bulma pointed to her chest and cocked her hip, grin ominous.

"YOU—I—VULGAR—IDIOT—," Unable to find an insult damaging enough for the embarrassment she had caused, the warrior prince did indeed put an additional hole in her quarters (this time, the door) as he stormed out.


	13. Chapter 13

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XIII.

Date Night

"Oh, Vegeeeeeetaaaaa?" Bulma called, voice sing-song as she rapped on the door of his bedroom. She assumed, after finding both the gravity room and the kitchen empty, that this would be the next logical place to look. After their exchange several nights ago, he had been taking _extra_ measures to avoid the heiress. If it were anyone else, this perhaps would have been less obvious. But, Vegeta's evasion techniques were not finely crafted to fit any sort of appropriate social construct; he would walk into a room, spot her, make eye contact, then abruptly curse and leave.

The warrior heaved his bedroom door open, gaze more intensely angry than usual, and glared expectantly at the scientist. "What?"

"Nice to see you, too, Mr. Grumpy pants," Bulma replied, grinning cheekily. She held their son in her arms, his tiny fist balled around a handful of her dress. "I need you to watch Trunks again. He's walking now, so I thought you could start your whole _training_ thing!"

Jaw tightening at the mocking inflection she placed on _training_ , the Saiyan crossed his arms. He knew she was trying to manipulate a reaction out of him; it wasn't going to work. "Fine," he replied evenly, eyeing her. She was wearing a _shamefully_ skimpy textile, one even more revealing than the garment she had been sporting at the pathetic gathering of human athletes she had attended last month. Recalling the events of that specific evening, he could feel his temper flaring. "And what will you be doing while I train our offspring?" he inquired, tone still forcibly unnerved.

"Oh, I'm going on a date," the beautiful, scantily clad woman replied nonchalantly, looking not at him, but at her chest as she used her free hand to readjusted her bra with an exaggerated motion.

"A what?" Vegeta needled, teeth clenched. He had never heard of such a thing, but was quite certain he wasn't going to like whatever it was. This entire exchange had _tactic_ written all over it.

"You know, a date? A handsome man is going to buy me dinner and give me compliments all night, in the hopes I'll agree to sleep with him? And by sleep with, I mean have sex." The scientist handed her child to the prince, who, completely dumbstruck by her words, accepted the hybrid bundle. "So, don't wait up for me. I'm hoping you'll have to watch Trunks _all_ night. I haven't had good sex since…" she placed a finger to her glossed lips, pretending to be deep in reminiscence, "oh, well, you remember." Her eyes flashed, and she winked, expression devilish. "I hope that super-good-alien hearing can't pick up anything from my room. I'll try to keep it down, but, you know how I can be."

Unable to articulate any clear word, the Saiyan growled with rage. He shoved his son into the arms of Mrs. Brief, who had been casually passing by to compliment her daughter on such a daring outfit choice, but now paused to watch the exchange. Aware of her eyes on him (which was made even more unnerving by the fact that they didn't even appear to be open), Vegeta grabbed Bulma's arm and pulled her past the nosey matriarch.

"Hey, let go you brute! You're going to rip my dress!" the angry heiress insisted.

The warrior easily tossed Bulma into the first empty room he happened upon, slamming the door behind them. "There isn't enough of that flimsy garment _to_ rip," he countered, face red, and a visible vein protruding above his furrowed brow.

"What, you don't think I look nice?" the victorious expression upon the woman's face was more than Vegeta could stand.

"You _look_ indecent. _Enough_ of this idiocy! You are _my_ woman, and you will not bring a pathetic human here with which to fornicate unless you want me to _kill_ him." The Saiyan Prince raised his fist, which noticeably trembled with rage.

At this, the scientist laughed out loud. " _Your_ woman? Get a grip, Prince Jelly-Much. I told you my conditions—and they haven't been met. Admit you love me, or get out of my way. This is _my_ house, and I won't be bossed around by the likes of _you_. Go ahead, keep me here all night. I'll just go on another date tomorrow. And one after that, and one after that! Believe me, I have _lots_ of interested parties!"

"Your demands are unreasonable!" Vegeta asserted, eye threatening to twitch. "I will not be made a fool of by participating in idiotic, human sentiments! I am the Prince of All Saiyans! I am a warrior!"

"And _I_ am going to be late. _Move_." Resolve firm, Bulma stood, stalemated before the Saiyan. She wasn't afraid of him, as he wasn't going to hurt her; they both knew that.

Again defeated, Vegeta stiffly turned, allowing her to pass. Sighing, the heiress shook her head and brushed past him. All he had to do was say it…Kami, how she wanted him to say it. But of course, as usual, the prince's pride could not be swayed.

"Bulma…"

She paused, surprised by the sound of her name, vibrating with unfamiliarity in his gruff vocal chords. Tempted to crook her neck and look at him, Bulma decided it might be easier for the stubborn Saiyan to make his confession if he didn't have to say it to her face. So, she froze, her stillness signaling him to continue.

"I _will_ kill him." He exhaled, pointedly. "Don't go out tonight."

While the warning rang true, the tag was a plea, his tone softening ever so slightly (as soft as Vegeta could muster). This, to Bulma, at least felt like progress. "Fine," she agreed. "But I'm not sleeping with _you_ , either." She marched out of the room to find her son, as well as change out of her horribly uncomfortable dress.


	14. Chapter 14

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XIV.

Burns

"It is malfunctioning." Vegeta dropped a metal hunk of training equipment onto Bulma's desk, the vibration and clatter of its impact causing the agitated scientist to cringe.

"It isn't _malfunctioning_ , you _broke_ it. There's a difference," she corrected with an eye roll. "These bots can only take so much, ya know. Do you really have to destroy all of them every single week to train satisfactorily?"

The Saiyan answered Bulma's inquiry with a scathing glare, deeming the question unworthy of a verbal response. As of recently, there had been few words shared between them-at least, fewer than the _usua_ l few. Vegeta was quite content to ignore her whenever possible, and was making a concerted effort to do so, as her tactics to manipulate him into being submissive were wearing his patience thin. She was, however, far more efficient at the maintenance of his training technology than her father, so exceptions had to be made.

Accurately interpreting his silence, the beautiful heiress sighed. "Right." She turned the damaged bot over in her hands, studying the visible scars of a recent ki blast. "It'll take a few minutes, but I should be able to get it up and running again before dinner. Just let me feed Trunks and I'll get on it."

Preoccupied by his training equipment needs (and the low cut of his former mate's blouse), the Saiyan had not even noticed his young son, standing shakily in his padded pen, positioned on the floor next to Bulma's desk. He raised an eyebrow, surprised to see the child on his feet. "He stands now?"

"I _told_ you that forever ago! He walks, too, remember? If you'd listen to me _ever_ , you'd know," the scientist huffed, placing the bot back on her desk and hoisting the toddler into her arms. "Yes, we're going to get you something yummy, aren't we?" she cooed, voice altered to sound silly and nurturing—a great juxtaposition from the shrill, demanding tone Vegeta usually experienced.

Jaw working, the Saiyan crossed his arms. "Shut up. Just tell me when you are complete," he grumbled, turning to make his exit.

Bulma stuck her tongue out at the grumpy Prince's back. "Whatever you want, _your majesty_ ," she drawled sarcastically, standing.

Triggered by her abrupt change in posture, the motion sensor on the broken training bot began to blink, and suddenly kicked on with a 'bing'. Catching sight of the light just in time, the scientist shrieked and turned, shielding Trunks from the laser which shot towards them. Instantly alerted by her cry, Vegeta quickly blasted the firing machine, reducing it to an unrecognizable, smoking pile of charred scrap. He then approached his familial pair, eyeing them for damage. "Why didn't you dodge, idiot woman?" he demanded, noting the scorched clothing and skin on the back of Bulma's shoulder.

" _I did!_ It didn't get him!" she snapped, gaze fixated on her son as she looked him over. "He's fine," she reiterated, exhaling in relief as she returned the boy to his play pen so she could inspect her own wound.

"It got _you_ , moron," the Saiyan said pointedly, gripping the heiress's arm so that he, too, could scrutinize the injury.

"Yes, I _know_ that, _Vegeta!_ While it's probably been a _whole_ fifteen minutes since one shot you, it does _hurt_ , remember!?" Bulma retorted, wincing as the warrior prodded her. "Would you cut it out?"

"You purposefully used your own body to protect the boy? You are weak and have no experience with such a blast- you did not know what it would do to you. It could have ended you," Vegeta stated tersely, disordered by her actions. The woman was a lot of things, but brave or self-sacrificing had never been descriptors he would attribute to her.

The scientist blinked, confused by the Saiyan's confusion. "I'm his _mother,_ Vegeta, what was I going to do, just stand there and let a weaponized robot _shoot_ him? I know you think I'm a weakling or an idiot or whatever, but give me some credit, geeze,"she grumbled, imitating his voice with undeniable accuracy when parroting his usual adjectives.

Contemplating this, the warrior stood silently, shifting the burnt fabric of her blouse to reveal the extent of her damage. It was a large, yet seemingly superficial scorch; the mark was ugly on her soft and fair skin. Looking at it prompted his blood to boil.

Surprised by the tenderness with which he touched her, Bulma turned to look at the Saiyan, whose serious eyes were still focused on her throbbing arm. With the adrenaline lessening, and the knowledge that Trunks was unharmed, she was beginning to feel the full and unpleasant sensation of the burn. "Hey, I'm fine, you can stop doing whatever you're doing back there," she said softly, placing a hand over the one which grasped her. "I mean, you fought androids and helped save the world. I think I can handle a little training bot," she added with a nervous laugh, fighting the tears which stung threateningly. She hated crying in front of him.

He released her arm, simultaneously sliding his hand out from under her own. She loved to accost him with these sentimental gestures—they made him extraordinarily uncomfortable. "I should have assured it was deactivated before bringing it to you, or destroyed it sooner. This is my fault," he said stiffly, making a fist.

Immediately connecting the parallel, Bulma shook her head. "Woah, back up, homeboy. I'm not Trunks, and that hunk of junk isn't Cell. I'm fine, baby Trunks is fine, and great-big-tall-future Trunks is _fine_. There wasn't anything you could do. Stop beating yourself up about _everything_ , would ya?"

Vegeta's brow furrowed further, eyes downcast to better barricade himself from the scientist; she was much too good at reading his thoughts for his own comfort. He then imagined his grown son, lying dead at the hands of Cell, and remembered the many things he wished he would have said or done in that moment, all those months ago. Suddenly, his gaze lifted to Bulma, who was stunning yet pitiful in her ruined top, her own eyes transfixed on the Saiyan. Unable to stop himself, he reached for her, pulling her towards him and meeting her lips with his own.

The embrace seemed to last for hours, although it was a mere few seconds—the energy between them could have produced a numerical value on a scanner. However, Vegeta ended the exchange, backing away from the heiress, his ears and cheeks the color of blood. Bulma opened her mouth to begin a dialogue, but was immediately cut short by the warrior prince. "See to your injury," he said gruffly, then quickly turned and left, leaving her and Trunks alone in the lab.


	15. Chapter 15

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XV.

Playing Doctor

"Hey Mom, could you-" Bulma paused in the doorway of Trunks's nursery, expecting to see her mother, and instead finding the Prince of All Saiyans, sitting cross-legged on the floor. Their lavender-haired son, gripping the outstretched arm of his father for balance, stood totteringly upright, face uncharacteristically serious for a toddler. "Oh, hi," the scientist said awkwardly, surprised by the scene. "I thought my mother was watching Trunks?"

Vegeta looked up at the heiress, although his arm and posture remained fixed. "She is gone. I am minding the boy," he said stiffly, eyeing Bulma. Her wounded arm rested in a sling, and she held a fistful of medical supplies in the opposite hand. The warrior had not seen her in two days, purposefully avoiding her after his embarrassing display of intimacy in the lab. These must have been the recommended accommodations of the corporation medical staff; it seemed excessive for the damage, but then again, he knew very little about the immune system of humans, and how great their fragility might be.

"Gone? Where to?" Bulma asked, brow furrowing. "She said she would baby-sit!"

"She was blabbering on about something, errands or whatever," the Saiyan replied, eyes shifting to his son. Prolonged eye contact with the beautiful earth woman suddenly felt especially uncomfortable. "I am assessing his strength and coordination until she returns."

Despite herself, the scientist grinned. "I see." She contemplated entering the room, but did not want to threaten the adorable father-son-Saiyan-bonding unfolding before her. "Well, I'll catch her later. You two have fun," she said, turning to leave.

"For what do you require her?" Vegeta asked, his inquiry, one of something that did not concern him, immediately filling the space with _weirdness_ which both parties felt.

Bulma paused, spinning back around to face the pair. "It's nothing. I'm just supposed to change this bandage, and I can't do it by myself," she said, suddenly nervous. She gave an awkward laugh, which did nothing to ease the nerves. "I didn't want to walk all the way over to the infirmary, but I guess I can. Good for the ol' legs!" She laughed again as her cheeks began to burn.

Peeling the small half-Saiyan from his arm and easing him to the floor by the back of his shirt, Vegeta stood and extended a hand. Bulma stared at his hand, blankly. "Give me the materials. I will do it," the moody alien stated, irritated by the heiress's hesitation.

"Y-you don't have to do that," she insisted, convinced her face could now rival the shade of even the juiciest of strawberries.

Vegeta rolled his eyes. "Insufferable woman, how many times have you done this very thing for me? I will do it. Don't be so ridiculous," he shot, snatching the bandage box from her.

"I'm not being—ugh, _fine_ , knock yourself out," the scientist relented with a sigh. She turned her back towards the Saiyan, shrugged off the sling, then unbuttoned and removed her sweater, her white tank now the only barrier between her brassier and ex-lover. If it had been a week ago, she would have used this as some sort of leverage or teasing tactic. However, something had changed between them when he last kissed her; playing games with him in this moment felt wrong.

While not oblivious to the bareness of her shoulders and the inviting nape of her neck, Vegeta focused on his task, carefully removing her old bandage. The burn looked worse than it had days before—the warrior found the length of time human flesh required to heal _pathetically_ surprising. He tensed, unnerved by how uncomfortably concerned he was by this.

After several moments of silence, Bulma cleared her throat. "Sooo…are we going to talk about what happened the other day?" she said tentatively, relieved she had the perfect excuse to avoid looking at the Saiyan during the entirety of the exchange.

"I would prefer not to," Vegeta stated, tone resolved.

The scientist nodded. "Well, I guess that's fair," she admitted, flinching as a calloused knuckled grazed her injury. He had, after all, granted her the same courtesy after the wine incident. "But, just know that I…" she paused, looking for the right words, "I think…well, it would be _ok_ if you wanted to do that again. Kiss me, I mean. Not the whole bring-a-still-functioning-laser-shooting-robot-into-my-lab-thing."

"Is this you _not_ talking about it?" the Saiyan grumbled through gritted teeth, securing her new bandage.

Bulma bit her tongue, trying not to giggle at how _human_ his vocabulary was becoming. "Ok, ok, sorry." She held her hands up apologetically, turning as she pulled her sweater back on. "My lips are sealed," she reiterated, resisting the _except for tongue action_ tag that lingered in her throat. She gazed at the warrior, now face to face with him. "Thanks," she said softly, giving him a warm smile.

Crossing his arms, Vegeta nodded, a gesture the beautiful scientist had long ago assigned to _you're welcome_ , or, more likely, _I acknowledge your pitiful verbalization of gratitude._ "How much longer are you required the wear this," he asked, jerking his head at the sling in her hands.

"They said a week, I guess so I'm not tempted to over-use my arm while the skin is healing," Bulma replied, unsure if she was grateful or disappointed for the subject change. "Seems silly to me, but what do I know? I'm just a genius," she added with a wink. "Hopefully it won't leave a scar."

"And what is wrong with scars?" the Saiyan retorted, eyes narrowing, ears tinging pink.

Bulma blinked, realizing she had accidentally offended the seasoned, scarred warrior prince. "Oh, nothing! I mean, _I_ don't want a scar, but they look sexy on you," she quickly covered, grinning.

Vegeta scoffed, annoyed by her ability to twist everything into something vulgar, yet equally irritated by his own relief that she admired his physical attributes. "Just shut up," he muttered, approaching the door. He paused, however, when next to her. "When you have fully healed, I wish to be notified," he stated, gruff voice almost a whisper.

Swallowing, the heiress nodded. "Yeah, sure," she agreed.


	16. Chapter 16

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XVI.

Actions

"You _think_ you're back together!?" Yamcha spit out his mouthful of water, the casualness of his old friend's tone deceptive of the shocking information it delivered. "What do you mean you _think_ you're back together?"

Bulma put her hands on her hips, glad to finally be rid of her sling, as she was once again able to perform this favored gesture. "I _mean_ what I said! I _think_ we're back together. I don't know, Yamcha! It isn't very clear right now," she insisted, glaring at the baseball player.

Pressing his hands to his temples, Yamcha squinted in concentration. "Ok, ok, back up, start from the beginning. Last time we talked, you threw the feminist book at me for even suggesting you were a couple." He recalled their previous conversation, although still trying to suppress the memory of he and Vegeta's _less_ comfortable one that followed.

The scientist sighed and slumped into the nearby chair. "It's a long story," she admitted, trying to piece together a timeline of the relevant events in her mind. Truthfully, it didn't make a lot of sense to her, either. Explaining it to someone else was going to be tough. "Essentially, I gave him an ultimatum. He had to admit he loves me, or that was that."

Grateful he didn't have another gulp of beverage to spew, Yamcha's eyes widened. "He said he _loves_ you!? _Vegeta_ said that!?"

Cheeks reddening, Bulma crossed her arms. "Well, no, not with _words_ ," she shot defensively.

The scarred warrior raised an eyebrow, which only added to the flush of the heiress's face and shortness of her temper. "Did he…write it down?"

"You are such an idiot sometimes," thel scientist growled. She was starting to regret bringing the topic up—if it had been validation she was looking for, she certainly wasn't going to find it through Yamcha. Admittedly, she should have known this; her ex-boyfriend's past experiences with her current alien-baby-daddy-boyfriend-thing were…colorful, to say the least. "He showed me with his _actions_."

"Like what _actions?_ Oh, you know what, don't answer that. I definitely don't want that mental image." The z-fighter shook his head, trying to erase what was already forming inside of it.

"NOTHING LIKE THAT!" Bulma shrieked through her gritted teeth, giving her friend a surprisingly powerful slap in the face. "Would you be mature for _one_ minute! I'm trying to have a conversation about this, thank you very much!"

Rubbing his stinging face, Yamcha relented. "Fine, yes, sorry! Please, keep going. What happened?"

Collecting herself, the heiress gave a long exhale and continued her account. "It's kind of hard to describe. At first, he just seemed annoyed that we weren't sleeping together. Which is, of _course,_ to be expected." She paused, flipping her hair with a grin as her partner rolled his eyes. "But then I had that accident in the lab,"

"You mean when he put a malfunctioning, highly dangerous training bot in your lap?" the athlete interjected, pointedly.

"The _accident_ ," Bulma asserted, otherwise ignoring the comment, "did something to him. He like, got all _concerned_ and said it was his fault." She wrapped her arms around herself, remembering the incident and the uncharacteristically apologetic tone the Saiyan had taken.

"Because it w _as_ ," Yamcha muttered under his breath, making no attempt to hide his resentment; only Vegeta could win over a beautiful woman by shooting her with a laser gun. The murderous alien's very existence on Earth was completely unfair.

The scientist shot the scar-faced man a warning look. " _Anyway_ , he kissed me! And not in the _usual_ way—it was so full of _care_ , and _so_ gentle…" Bulma trailed off, her blue eyes glazing over dreamily.

"…Can we skip this part?" The fighter shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "I'm really trying, but you're killing me, here," he admitted with a grimace, trying desperately not to imagine what a _usual_ kiss for Vegeta might be.

" _Fine_." Her attention returning to the conversation, the beautiful genius shrugged. "Anyway, he's been spending time with Trunks, _and_ he even changed my bandage without me asking. He _offered_ to do it. So, I told him, if he wanted to kiss me again, I would be reciprocating of that."

"So he kissed you again?"

Caught slightly off guard by the question, Bulma bit her lip. "Well, no, he hasn't. That's the not-so-clear part," she admitted. "I thought he would —he walked up to me like he was going to. But then, he just asked for me to tell him when my arm is better."

"Huh." Yamcha stroked his chin thoughtfully.

" _Huh_ what?" the heiress demanded with an eye twitch.

"I just think it's weird he didn't kiss you. I mean, if he's all in _love_ with you like you say he is…" The ex-bandit grinned impishly. " _Maybe_ he's just chicken."

"Are you referring to me, clown?" The dark voice resonated from the doorway behind Yamcha, causing him to topple from his chair as he whirled around to face its owner.

"N-no way! Someone else. Not you! You're no chicken!" the human warrior insisted, swallowing and backing away as he clambered to his feet.

Dissatisfied with the believability of Yamcha's answer, but amused by his idiotic tumble, the Saiyan let the matter slide. Narrowing his eyes at the Earth fighter, he turned and pulled a bottle of water from the refrigerator. "Why are you here?" he asked, annoyed.

"Vegeta, we have been _through_ this! Yamcha is my friend and he's allowed to come over whenever he wants. Don't be such a jerk," Bulma scolded, tongue pressed to her cheek.

Bracing himself for a Galic Gun blast that would most certainly blow up the entire planet, Yamcha watched in amazement as the ruthless Prince of All Saiyans turned his gaze to Bulma, rolled his eyes, and made his exit with a mild "hn." Once certain Vegeta was out of earshot, Yamcha breathed a sigh of relief. "Geeze, I can't believe he lets you talk to him like that. He _must_ love you. Or at least _really_ like you."

"Yup," the scientist agreed with a triumphant smirk.


	17. Chapter 17

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XVII.

Blue

Nervously smoothing the front of her cotton dress, Bulma took a deep breath. She held up her fist, paused for minute (wondering if it was too late to change her mind), then rapped on the door of the gravity room. She had been anticipating _this moment_ for days—in _this moment,_ as soon as the gravity room door opened, she would tell Vegeta that she was fully recovered from the lab incident, just as he had requested. Why he wanted this information, she did not know; when replaying potential outcomes of the scenario in her mind, she had come to the most logical conclusion that, because she had given him permission to touch her again (he had not yet done so), he was waiting for her to be in 100% health so that his angsty Saiyan brain and body could ravage her intensely and free of guilt. The tension between them had been building to this moment—she could _feel_ it. It was a new beginning, a new _them._ Her heart began to pound as the door snapped open.

"What?" the Saiyan grunted.

"Good morning to you, too," the scientist replied with an eye roll. "Just wanted to let you know—my arm is _all_ healed up. Good as new!" She awkwardly patted herself on the back of her shoulder where the burn had been, and waved her arm demonstratively; pausing, she searched his face for a clue as to what was going to happen next.

Vegeta nodded, expression bored. He then turned and closed the door.

Confused, Bulma blinked. Then, suddenly angry, she pounded on the door again, this time much more forcefully, until the pair were face to face once more.

"Can I _help_ you?" Vegeta asked through gritted teeth, eyes narrowed.

Hands on her hips, the blue-haired genius leaned closer to the Saiyan, the irritation on her face rivaling his own. "There isn't anything _else_ you wanted?" she inquired incredulously.

The warrior crossed his arms. "I wanted to be informed of your recovery. Your health, in this instance, concerned me. That is all. You have done so, so you may _leave_."

Unable to control herself, Bulma growled. "Are you _kidding_? You are so—so—so—I don't even know what you are! But you're making me _crazy_!"

This time, it was Vegeta's turn to be confused. "What on Earth are you going on about _now_ , woman? I have done _nothing!_ "

"EXACTLY!" the scientist shoved the Saiyan, then marched past him into the gravity room, closing the door behind her.

The Saiyan turned to face his agitated ex-mate, brow furrowed. "I do not understand," he confessed, the effort he was making to keep an even tone extraordinarily evident.

Massaging her temples, also attempting to diffuse, the scientist sighed. "Obviously," she muttered. "Look, I thought I was clear the other day. It's _ok_ if you want to—you know, do what we _used_ to do. In fact, it's more than ok. I _want_ that. So, what's up? I _know_ you haven't suddenly become uninterested. I mean, really, what's the deal?"

"That is _not_ what you said," Vegeta stated flatly.

Taken aback, Bulma paused. "Yes it is," she insisted.

"No," the warrior countered, "you said I could-" he hesitated, cheeks reddening " _kiss_ you again," he corrected, the word _kiss_ appearing to cause him more pain than any ki blast or broken bone.

The scientist raised an eyebrow, trying not to smirk at her partner's embarrassment. "Ok, whatever. So why haven't you _kissed_ me, then?" she pried, unrelenting. Her inability to ever back down was one of the many things about her the Saiyan Prince found both irritating and irritatingly attractive.

Jaw working, Vegeta averted his eyes, face still flushed as he searched for the words to describe his predicament. "I did not want to… engage you physically in _any_ aspect without the clear permission to—it has now been more than an entire Earth year…I am not sure that I would be able to…" he stopped, desperately hoping the woman understood what he was trying to convey, as he did not wish to speak about it anymore; his discomfort and embarrassment were now immeasurable.

Holding up a hand, Bulma granted him the permission to discontinue his explanation. "So, if I am hearing you correctly," she began slowly, "you didn't want to kiss me because you want me _so_ much you were afraid you'd take advantage of me?"

At this, the Saiyan scoffed. "That is vile. I would not do such a thing," he asserted.

Truthfully, the heiress believed him. While she had always found his respect for her consent to be out of character for the ex-genocidal alien, it had never been a question, even in the beginning. Suddenly, her lightbulb of understanding flickered on. "Ah. So, this is more of a blue balls thing."

Fists clenching, Vegeta's eye twitched. "Can we please end this insufferable discussion?" he growled.

His agitation confirming Bulma's suspicion, she grinned at the Saiyan. "Sure," she agreed, approaching him. "I think we've had enough _talking_ for one day." She traced his chest with her hand, then bit her lip mischievously, expression coy. "What do _you_ think?"

"I _think_ this is one of your tricks," the alien said bluntly, eyes transfixed by the pout of her inviting mouth.

The scientist shook her head, then leaned closer, her other hand snaking into his hair and pulling his face towards her own. "Nope. _This_ is permission to do whatever you want with me," she whispered, teeth grazing the lobe of his ear as the hand which caressed his chest slid down his torso.

Certainly not needing to be told twice, Vegeta grabbed his once-former mate, tearing her dress away as the end of his celibacy and the warmth of her flesh called to him.


	18. Chapter 18

Hey, all! I know it's been a loooong while since my last entry. As we all know, life is busy, and mine has been VERY busy within the last year! It's hard to find the time to write, but I still do from time to time, and plan to continue this story, even if it may be slowly. Thanks to all who have read, favorited, followed and reviewed! It means a lot!

Anyway, please enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own DBZ or any of its wonderful characters.

XVIII.

Communication

"No, no, no—Vegeta, _no!"_ Bulma gasped as she feebly swatted at the Saiyan's bare chest, warding him away from his current, hovering position overtop her. "I need a _break_!"

His expression one of genuine confusion, the puzzled prince retreated, seating himself beside her. "Why? What is the issue? You have changed your mind _again?"_ he growled, his irritation mounting.

Wiping the sweat-matted bangs from her face, the exhausted scientist shook her head. "Chill out, would ya? I just need a _break_. Human men can't—can't—well, you know, can't _go_ this many times in a row!"

Vegeta rolled his eyes, uninterested in hiding his contempt for the worthlessness of the human male. "Yes, I am _aware_ of that, as well as of their many _other_ shortcomings," he stated flatly, tone dismissive. "However, it was my understanding that human females were not as inefficient in this regard." He crossed his arms, gaze narrowing. "At least, it has never been an issue for _you_."

"Yeah, well _this_ behavior is new for you, too," Bulma replied, casually throwing her hands behind her head, cushioning it from the hard tile of the gravity room floor. "I mean, don't get me wrong, you've always been committed to doin' the dirty. But we have _literally_ been doing this _all day._ "

The alien blushed, then quickly diverted his gaze from his mate's nude form. "Vulgar woman," he growled through gritted teeth, cheeks still burning. "I do not approve of your description of our activities, nor your assertion that I am in some way _committed_ to them."

Brow furrowing, Bulma, too, sat up and positioned herself directly opposite of the Saiyan. "Hey, cool it. It's a _compliment._ I just mean you're good at it, that's all, I promise," she stated, holding up her hands as if to show him there were no offensive words inside of them. "And I won't call it 'doin' the dirty' if it makes you uncomfortable. What do _you_ want me to call it?"

Eyes still averted and expression angry, Vegeta grumbled. "I don't see why we have to _call_ it _anything._ If we never speak of it, it needn't be named."

" _Never speak of it?_ "Bulma repeated, imitating the grumpy voice with only mild accuracy, "Kami, you are such a prude. _Some_ guys like to talk about it. It can be, you know, _exciting._ "

"Would you please shut up," the Saiyan snapped, patience near spent. "I do not care about what vile and vulgar conversations Earthlings like to have. I will not be participating in such a dialogue _ever."_

"Ok, alright, fine. No skin off my back!" the beautiful scientist said, again brandishing her open hands, as this was the only apologetic posture in her physical vocabulary.

After she felt the appropriate amount of silence had elapsed, and the crimson color had drained from Vegeta's cheeks, Bulma cleared her throat. "Look, I really don't want to start a fight or make this weird. This was good. All I meant was that, you know… _before_ , you never had a whole day to spend with me like this. We had fun, sometimes for hours, but you always had to stop and train. My body just isn't used to doing, erm— _this_ —all day. That doesn't mean I don't like it or don't want to do it more. I do."

"If your fragile body requires rest, fine," the warrior grunted tersely after a moment, his stoic posture unrelenting, arms held tight against his chest, eyes down.

Bulma grinned. "If anything, it's much more _flexible_ than it is _fragile_ , wouldn't you agree? " She coyly slid forward, legs slinking around the waist of the statuesque alien.

Frowning, Vegeta finally met her gaze. "You are truly a disgusting creature," he reiterated, although allowing the physical advances.

The heiress laughed, grin widening. "Yes, but I'm _your_ disgusting creature now, so I guess you're stuck with me," she teased, positing herself in his lap and assaulting his face with an array of unwanted, trivial physical affection.

The Saiyan grimaced but tolerated it, as experience had taught him that entertaining her oral affections could sometimes lead to their disbursement in more desirable locations than that of his face. "You don't seem to me the kind of creature that would ever willingly belong to another," he remarked, tone inquisitive. Although, indisputably, he considered her _his_ mate.

Bulma paused, her hand resting on the warrior's face. "I'm not," she said, her tone and gaze suddenly serious. She studied him for a moment, the shape of his eyes and strength of his jaw intoxicating, their effect magnified by the knowledge that these were the features he gifted their son. "But," she began slowly, "You, Trunks and I…in a way, we all belong to each other. Do you understand?"

Vegeta frowned, cheeks tinting red again. He looked to the ground, then, much to Bulma's surprise, he nodded. The nod was accompanied by an indiscernible grunt of comprehension.

The scientist smiled. "And, believe me, I have _no_ idea what this entire arrangement is going to look like yet. But…we'll figure it out. You and me, together." She took his head in her hands, prompting his attention, and firmly nodded, as if to seal her promise.

"Fine," the Saiyan muttered, reaching around his mate's back, eager to return to their _physical_ communications. He had always been a _physical_ communicator—and this was never truer than when it came to Bulma.

"Ok, ok," the heiress verbally responded to the prince's physical prompts, her smirk cheeky ."But…just so you know, this was nice."

Vegeta paused, confused. "Your _break_ was nice?"

"No," Bulma answered, softly kissing him once more. "Just…talking. It was nice to talk. You aren't so bad to talk to."

"Hn."

" _Hn_ yourself. Now, show me what else that mouth can do."

The Saiyan rolled his eyes, but obeyed. "Vulgar woman…"


End file.
